


Seven Wives of Tyrion Lannister

by Sookiestark



Series: A Companion Through Eternity [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:09:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: Seven Different AU's were Tyrion was married to different ladies of Westeros.





	1. The Father

**Author's Note:**

> So... For good or bad, Tyrion Lannister is my favorite character. Anyway, I have been writing alot about lots of different things and work has been crazy, so I wanted to write something I enjoyed. Voila- Tyrion AU's.
> 
> So this has been done before.. Seven different wives - Seven different AUs. Only thing in common is at some point he meets Sansa. 
> 
> In research for this, Tywin made a marriage offer to Delena's father after she gave birth to Edric Storm. In canon, her father refused.

“Lena. Call me Lena. All my family calls me Lena.”

That is what Tyrion’s betrothed said to him the day he was introduced to her. He did not know what to expect from his bride-to-be when she came to Casterly Rock. He found her to be a pretty girl, with blonde streaks in her brown hair and bright eyes, as blue as the sea. Delena Florent was curvy in her hips, but thin around her waist. There were many things that Tyrion liked about his betrothed, but the thing Tyrion liked the most about her was the intelligence behind her eyes. 

He could tell that she tried to hide it. She hid it behind a flirtatious smile and a gentle laugh. Tossing her hair, she would smile demurely behind half-lidded long lashes. However, he could see her looking around at Casterly Rock, critically, counting tiles, windows, looking at the horses in the yard, as well as the children. When her father spoke, Delena would listen and do what was asked immediately and without question like a good daughter, but Tyrion could see the flash of rebellion or the tightness in her lips, if she disagreed.

When she had come from the Reach, Tyrion was to show her around Casterly Rock. He had shown her the Great Hall, the menagerie with the empty cages, the small gardens, the godswood, the view of the sea on the ramparts, and the Hall of Heroes. She had been polite and attentive, acting interested and delighted when appropriate. She never made mention of his height, and even would go out of her way to make sure he felt comfortable, sitting when she could so that they might look into each others faces. 

At the end of the tour, however, Tyrion could see boredom in her eyes and a sadness. Delena’s father, Colin Florent, had only agreed to this match because Delena had been deflowered in her cousin’s wedding bed with King Robert. Tywin Lannister had made an offer of marriage after she had had the King’s bastard and her father, Colin Florent, had agreed to it because she has no options. The Demon Monkey of Casterly Rock was not the best of marriage options. She was sixteen and a mother already. A ruined woman with no prospects having given birth to a bastard, the King’s bastard, but still a bastard. 

He could tell that she was dutiful and he was certain she had been told to be polite and in no way be offensive. Tyrion knew, that bringing up her sadness at her child being taken from her or her boredom at having to marry a child and a dwarf, would both be considered resoundingly impolite. However, he wanted her to be happy. When she had learned that the empty cages had once held lions, he had witnessed her smile. When she had looked over the ramparts at the Sunset Sea, he had seen it again. Tyrion Lannister had promised himself he would see his wife’s smile frequently, as it was his intention to be the best husband. 

At thirteen and with their marriage in less than a week, Tyrion did not want to bring up any conversation that might be awkward or uncomfortable. He had heard she had only been able to stay with her son for a fortnight, before they sent him to Storm’s End to be raised by his Uncle, Renly Baratheon. Tyrion wondered if she missed the child. She had named him Edric, Edric Storm. Delena came to Casterly Rock about six months after the birth of her son. She was only seventeen. He looked up at her, “ My Lady.., Lena, I could take you to my favorite room.”

Smiling the warmest smile, shaking off whatever sad thoughts she might have, she nodded and Tyrion took her to the library. When she had seen the library, her smile had grown even wider. “Do you like to read?” Tyrion had asked.

“Tyrion, I love to read.” 

Delena had brought quite a party to attend the wedding. House Florent was one of the most well-connected houses in the Reach. There were Tarlys, Hightowers, Cranes, and Redwynes were all in attendance the day they were wed. Most of the notable houses of the Westerlands also were in attendance. Of course Queen Cersei and his brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, came. King Robert Baratheon did not come and Tyrion believed that his sister had made sure he had stayed in King’s Landing. Queen Cersei, his sister and Robert’s wife, would not allow the King to visit with the baby. Cersei definitely did not want to give Robert the idea he might bed Delena again in this marriage bed, like he had once before.

That night, Tyrion laid in his bed, while the household at Casterly Rock prepared for the wedding at the end of the week. He had known that his father had loved his mother deeply, though he could not even imagine his father loving anyone. Uncle Kevan seemed to love his Aunt in a caring way, but Aunt Dorna was very devout and not prone to smile. Once when he had been younger, he had stumbled into his Uncle Gerion’s room. He had seen a woman sleeping on his chest, naked. Red with embarrassment, Tyrion had left before he had woken either of the pair. He had thought of it often, the closeness, the intimacy, and hoped his wife and him might be that close some day. 

They were married in the sept at the Rock and thought how pretty she was in red. During the wedding feast, Cersei had said something snide about the size of her ears, noting she had grown her hair out to hide their size. Jaime said something about Delena being a pretty girl and knowing why Robert had bedded her. Cersei stopped being so smug. Instead, she raged silently for the rest of the evening.

During the bedding ceremony, Tyrion was dropped unceremoniously naked by a group of women, saying the dirtiest things he had ever heard. Delena was already there, on the bed, blushing and uncomfortable. As he walked toward the bed, he noticed she was looking at his cock, which was half hard from all the women, tearing his clothes off.

Slightly drunk, Tyrion tried to get to the covers, to hide his nakedness. Her face was flushed and she spoke, “I did not think it would be so big.”  
Tyrion kissed her gently, bumping his forehead against hers. She rubbed her head gently. Laughing, Delena had asked him, “Have you done this before?” 

“No..” 

She spoke softly, “I have only once and I had drunk too much wine. ”

Tyrion’s thoughts flashed to his wife, drunk and a virgin, being pushed onto her cousin’s marriage bed by the King, “Perhaps we could have some wine.”

“I don’t think wine will help. Maybe more kisses.”

She was trying to be helpful, make it less awkward and uncomfortable. Tyrion thought she was beautiful, but he couldn’t find the words. When he was done, he lay on top of her breathless and she seemed slightly uncomfortable. He lay down next to her. 

“Perhaps, you might allow me to hold you.”

He had opened his arms and she had laid upon his chest. “Am I hurting you?” She had asked timidly.

“No. this is perfect.

If their marriage bed wasn’t entirely comfortable, Delena was fertile and obedient, getting pregnant soon after the wedding. Tywin clapped him on the back. Tyrion felt relief that he did have to bed her. He liked sleeping with his wife, but he felt that she should enjoy it as much as he. It never seemed to satisfy her and though she was affable and willing, Tyrion often found himself wishing she would be as breathless as he. 

Instead, Tyrion walked with her in the gardens, red with her curled beside him, and watched her grow round and sweet. Lena, he would call her her and often he would find her her in the library, reading. He liked how much she knew and how clever she was. Occasionally, he would kiss her and she seemed to like his kisses. The first time the baby kicked, she was reading next to him. “Would you like to feel him?”

“Yes.” 

Gently, she pressed his hand against her stomach. Underneath, he could feel his child kick against his hand. At fourteen, Tyrion became a father when she had Tybalt. He held his son against his chest, feeling protective and gentle at the same time. His father had come to the nursery, looking at his grandson, Tybalt. Tywin spoke, approvingly, “Your son is well made and has the Lannister look to him.”

It was the closest thing his father had ever said to him that sounded like praise. 

That night, he had climbed beside his wife and held her against him. She had snuggled close to him. Tyrion had many things he had wanted to say to her, but he found he did not know where to start. Instead, he spoke, “Did you it is said that Lann the Clever was a Florent bastard?”

“It is why we understand each other so well..” She said, half-asleep. 

When she was well enough to travel, they went to the Reach to show the heir to Casterly Rock to all her relations. At Brightwater Keep, her father held a tourney for the birth of his grandson. Tyrion watched how she looked at the knights, as if she was a starry-eyed girl. If Lena ever dreamed of knights and warriors, she was kind enough to never say a word to her husband. But he saw the way she looked at them and he knew she would have loved to be held by a tall, brave knight, straight and strong. He wondered if that is why she did not enjoy their bed because he was a twisted malformed creature, a demon monkey.

When he returned home, he mustered the courage to ask the only man he knew he could trust in matters of the heart, Uncle Gerion. He found him in the library, pouring over maps of Old Valyria. Tyrion spoke, “Uncle Gerion, I need to ask you a question. I do not know who else I could ask but I fear there is something missing in my marriage bed. Perhaps, I do not have the skill or it is because I am a dwarf.. I feel awkward, uncomfortable.”

Uncle Gerion looked into his nephew’s eyes. “How old are you, Tyrion?”

“I will be fifteen in a fortnight.”  
“Fifteen and already a father. Do you know how old your father was when he was married? Your father was twenty-one. Your Uncle Kevan was twenty- seven and Tyg was almost thirty. Do you know why? Because men make a terrible mess out of love and ladies and boys are even worse at it. We get better at it with age, more considerate. Your father should have waited before he wed you.

Tyrion started regretting this conversation and felt as if he did not understand what his Uncle was saying at all. 

Gerion looked at his nephew. “Do you kiss her Tyrion?”

“Yes. She likes to kiss me.”

“I mean, really kiss her. Look in her eyes and kiss her like she is the most beautiful woman in the world. Kiss her like you are wildly in love with her... Do you love her, Tyrion?”

 

“Delena is a good wife. She is smart and true and never makes me feel like I am dwarf. She gave me Tybalt and helps father host other Houses when the bannermen visit. She is never mean.” 

“No, that isn’t what I am saying. Take her and look in her eyes and kiss her like she is the lady from all those tales of old you have read. Kiss her soft and slow. Kiss her all over her body and see what she likes.”

“How will I know she likes it?”

“Her body will tell you. Listen to it. Marriage beds aren’t all about your cock. Remember Tyrion, love isn’t something that happens. It is something that we work at.. Work at it and you will see what can happen.”

That night, Tyrion took his Uncle’s advice. 

“Look at me,” he said when he kissed her. When they were finished, she was breathless. 

A year later, she gave birth to Landon, their second son. After that, Tyrion and Delena fell into a happy routine of married life. She spent her time being a patron of several chapters of Septas and Silent Sisters. Sometimes, she would have troupes of actors come to Casterly Rock or persuade Tyrion to go to Lannisport and see the new playhouse. Delena loved actors, almost as much as she loved books. Tyrion would tease his wife that he half expected her to run away and join a troupe of actors in Essos. Laughing, she would say, “I would miss you and the children.”

When Edric was six, Tyrion sailed with her to Storm’s End to visit with her son. When Edric was eight, she asked if the boy could stay a few months in the year. The King agreed to it and Tywin allowed it. After all, Delena had two sons and she was obedient and would often help as the Lady of Casterly Rock, both with entertaining and running the household. Tyrion knew that there were other motives, as well, but what he could not figure out. Edric was a good boy, albeit spoiled. However, Tyrion knew his nephew, Joffrey, and compared to Joffrey, Edric behaved like a prince. 

When Tyrion was twenty three, Delena died of a fever, after their daughter, Genevieve, was born. He stayed with her, holding her hand long after the Maester told him she was dead. Laying with his head on their hands, he had stayed there crying softly in the sheets. His sweet wife had given him the best gift of all. She had made him a father. His sons, Tybalt and Landon, tall and strong, golden like Jaime but like smart and clever like him, and her. Tyrion thought it was unfortunate she was not born a man she would have made an excellent Maester. 

Tyrion would have thought she was a silly girl, a starry-eyed slut, who spread her legs for the King, in her cousin’s wedding bed. Instead, she was a virgin, who had drunk too much, and had no knowledge of the world or love outside her stories. She was so much more than one of the girls who had one of the King’s many bastards. She was his wife and he had loved her.

 

Years later, he is sent by his father to be Joffrey's Hand, while he fights in the Wars. His eldest, Tybalt comes to his rooms on his arrival. The boy has been at the Red Keep since last year, first as the King’s squire. Now that the King is dead, he is just another member of the Lannister clan in the Red Keep. Tybalt is tall and golden, looking more like Jaime than anyone he has ever seen. In fact, he has seen the way Cersei eyes the boy and will send him back to the Rock as soon as it is safe. 

Tybalt seems visibly shaken, “Father, you must help her. Joffrey is holding a loaded crossbow at Lady Sansa. I think he means to use it.”

Tyrion motions to Bronn and they head to the throne room. When they arrive there, Lady Sansa is holding the shreds of her dress and being beaten by one of the Kingsguard. 

While Tyrion reminded his nephew of his duties as King, he asked for someone to cover Lady Sansa. In a bold and gallant sweep, Tybalt takes his Lannister red cloak off for her to cover herself.

As Tyrion walks toward the crying girl, he extends his hand. She takes it, looking in his eyes. For a second, he is looking in the blue eyes of his dead wife, the pretty color and the intelligence. Lady Sansa is calculating all her options and weighing her options. For a second, she looks at Tybalt and he sees a flash of hope. 

He speaks to her, gently, “Come, Lady Sansa” 

Tyrion offered her his hand and helped her up. 

As he walks out of the throne room, he sees his son looking to her, concerned, but Lady Sansa is looking forward toward her destination. Only Tyrion sees the tightness in her jaw and knows that as defiance.


	2. The Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Tyrion AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some really interesting takes on this pairing .. this is my take.

They were married in the ruined shell of the sept at Winterfell, while Kingslayer screamed, dying of a stomach wound and burns over half of his body. Jaime Lannister had spoken to both of them and when he was done, they went to the sept to be wed. 

After they said their vows, Brienne knelt and Tyrion wrapped her with his cloak. He pressed a chaste kiss on her cheek and she went back to his brother’s bedside but Jaime had grown silent. Brienne had walked to her room, not the suite that Lady Sansa had prepared for them, but the small room with that mattress that could barely hold her. If she noticed Tyrion silently following behind, she gave no sign or did not seek to comfort him. Instead, she shut the door to her room.

Tyrion did not know how to console her, so he and Pod outside her chamber, waiting for her. After some time, he took the squire back to his bridal suite and drank all the wine they could find, toasting to Jaime Lannister and winning an unwinnable war.

Tyrion did not know how to approach her or what to say. As days turned to weeks, they moved back to King’s Landing to rebuild with the Seven Kingdoms under a new Targaryen Age. Lady Brienne Lannister came to him after a fortnight in King’s Landing, “I would like permission to go to Tarth. My father is getting older and has been ill. He would like to see me.”

Touching her flat stomach, she spoke softly, “I have told him that I am with child and he would like to see his grandchild.”

Tyrion had looked at her, “I would not keep you from your father. When your time comes closer, I will come to Tarth to help you and to see the child. It is my first..”

Brienne had looked at him. It may have been the first time she really looked at him in the eyes. She smiled, “Of course.. I would not keep you from the child. It is both our first.”

“If it is a boy, he will be the next Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Brienne smiled at him and Tyrion smiled back.

As she sailed back to Tarth, he remembered back to his wedding day. Tyrion had heard what his brother had said to this woman. He remembered how intimate and private it felt to watch her hold his brother’s hand as the room smelled of blood and death. “My brother is like you; he is not what he appears. He is much more, a much bigger man than me. My children never had any kind of father, but Tyrion was their favorite uncle. Over me, they chose him every time. What name is Hill or Storm for the babe? I would like one of my children to have Lannister as their name. Tyrion will be a good husband. He has been married twice so he has had much practice. He will be an excellent father. He is Lord of Casterly Rock and that makes him the richest man in Westeros. He will keep both of you safe. Do this for me.” 

Brienne stood up and walked to the corner. Tyrion approached the bed cautiously but took his brother’s hand. Jaime had spoken to him, closing his eyes against the pain, “Marry her for me. I have no right to ask this of you, but for once, I would like to make something good. I have no right to ask you of it, yet I do. I love her and would do it myself....”

“Out of love, I do it for you. “

As Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock, there were many things to do and months passed quickly. Sometimes he wondered if Jaime had married him to Brienne as revenge. Jaime had saddled him with this beast of a woman for the rest of his life and she would disdain him until they died. He did not think he would ever want to bed her, never mind that she might kill him if he tried. Being a warrior, she was in good physical condition and might live until she was ninety, hating him until he died. 

True to his word, Tyrion Lannister made the journey to Tarth to see the birth of his first child, even if it was his brother’s. He remembered once making a joke to Cersei that she opened her legs for Jaime, she should open her legs for him. Now, he was in a similar situation with Brienne and wished he had never made the joke.

With no trouble, on a sweet warm spring day, the baby came. A girl, golden-haired, green-eyed, looking like Jaime’s twin, and the sweetest thing Tyrion had ever seen. When Tyrion held her, he thought this is Myrcella was back from the dead. Tyrion thought this is my chance to make a family who will love me, regardless of my size or my character. 

Brienne looked up at him, weary and exhausted. 

“We have a daughter, my lady.” he said to his wife.

“Brienne, my lord.”

“Tyrion.. Brienne. What shall we name this beautiful creature?”

Brienne seemed uncomfortable with the baby. “I did not expect a girl. She seems too small. I am afraid I might drop her.” 

 

"That is why you are safe in bed. Take her. I expected a daughter. We should name her Janna.”

It was not a common name, but she was not a common baby. Tyrion found himself drawn to her nursery during the day and at night. He found he could not stop smelling her soft blonde head or the feel of her warm against his chest. He did not mind when she cried. He was an excellent burper and if that did not work, he would recite passages from The Lives of Four Kings and she would fall back to sleep almost immediately. 

After the birth of Janna, he asked Brienne if she would return to King’s Landing with him. He could not bear to not be with the child and Brienne went without a fight. Tyrion was busy trying to rebuild the Seven Kingdoms and undo the damage his sister had wrought. However, no matter how busy he was, he made time for Jana during the day. Though he paid little attention to his wife, he sat beside her at feasts and holidays, watching folks snicker and make jokes Tyrion did not care if she wore dresses or full suits of armor. She found a niche with King Aegon, often talking about defenses and training soldiers. When they sat beside each other, they would speak about politics, household needs, potential alliances, defense of the city, and the like, but he never approached her bedroom and she never invited him. 

Three months after Janna’s birth, he came to his chambers after working late into the night to find her in his room, sleeping on his bed. “What might I do for you Brienne? I did not expect to see you. Is Jana well?”

Brienne sat up, almost surprised at finding herself sleeping on his covers. Quickly, she recovered herself and spoke, “She is. Tyrion, I am here to do my duty as your wife, as the Lady of Casterly Rock.” 

Tyrion noticed her broken nose and what appeared to be a bite mark from someone on her cheek. In the firelight, she had no shape to speak of and might be two times his height. His wife had freckles which reminded him of his first wife and blue eyes that were the prettiest he had ever seen. 

“What duty?” Tyrion felt his mouth go dry as he spoke. Hatred he could understand, even expect, but duty was unexpected and disarmed him. 

“I have never been one for duty, my lady. Now, would not be the time to start being dutiful. Do not come here out of duty. Brienne, I never cared for an unwilling partner. I prefer someone who wants me, whether for coin or company. I have no taste for unwilling.”

“You are my husband..”

“I would still like you willing. It has nothing to do with your appearance. After all, Jaime loved you. I am certain there are books that could be filled with your charms. I am certain there is a great deal to love.”

She looked hurt by his words and started to get off his bed. He spoke again, “Don’t leave just yet. Tell me of your day. Tell me what you do all day.”

Brienne looked at him as if he had grown three heads, as he crawled into the bed beside her. “You want me to tell you of my day..”

“Yes. That would be much more pleasant than duty bound sex. Come now. Get under the covers and we will talk about the harvest and the events of the day.”

Slowly, Brienne complied with his request. She climbed in beside him and started telling him about her day. They started meeting for dinner in his chambers when they weren’t needed somewhere else. Afterward, they would climb in Tyrion’s bed and talk of the day. Tyrion liked waking next to her but he did not feel desire for her. However, he did find himself growing fond of her. 

When Jana was almost a year, there was a great feast at Casterly Rock for Podrick Payne’s wedding. Podrick was the steward at Casterly Rock and recently, Tyrion had granted him Castamere. Podrick had made a good match with a pretty Lannister from Lannisport, a poorer cousin trying to win favor with the new Lord of Casterly Rock. The girl seemed genuinely happy to marry Pod.

Lady Brienne had started drinking wine early in the day. He could tell she was nervous to see the bannermen in the Westerlands and feel their eyes and judgement upon her. In fact, she even wore a crimson dress and put Jana in one to match. Tyrion tried to reassure her but he knew how it felt to be found wanting in the eyes of the lords. As the feast grew late, they started a drinking game, “I can out drink you Tyrion. I am bigger and a soldier as well. I am sturdy.”

Tyrion liked the teasing, “Be that as it may, Brienne. I have outdrank Dothrakis, Wildlings, sellswords. I am a professional at these games.”

However, when Brienne started to become affected by the wine, he laughing told her that she had won, and outdrank the Imp. As they went to the Lord’s chambers, she stumbled once or twice. 

She sat in a chair and Tyrion helped untie all the laces on her dress. Tyrion spoke, “Alright, I think we have gotten it loose enough. Try now and see if you can extricate yourself from it.”

In her underdress, she sat back down in the chair, pushing the velvet dress away from her. Tyrion touched her cheek, the scarred one, “You did wonderful tonight. The Lords approved, especially when you told your tales of how you saved Lady Sansa Stark and fought with Jaime.”

Tyrion walked to put more fire in the fireplace and he heard her speak.

“I know I am ugly. Even the Imp, my own husband, known for his lechery won’t touch me.”

Wiping his hands on his pants, he looked at them to see if they were dirty before he put them on her thighs. Smiling, he looked at her, critically, “How drunk are you?”

When she spoke, her voice seemed clear, “I am a little, but I know what I am asking.”

“Do you?”

She nodded, meeting his eyes. Tyrion pushed closer to her, “Brienne, open your legs. You will need to open your legs.”

She did and he stepped closer, between her legs, pressed against her. Tyrion saw the fear and the excitement in her face and then, she took his face and kissed him. They spent a fortnight at Casterly Rock. At the end of the fortnight, Brienne received a letter that her father had died and she was the Lady of Tarth.

For the sheer vastness of their holdings and the demanding nature of his position at Court, Tyrion lived away from Brienne. Across the continent or just a sea, they would see each other once a year for a moon and another son would follow. They had four sons; Landon, Jason, Tybalt, and Gwayne. All straight and strong like Jaime. All golden-haired, some with blue eyes, some with green. All fair of face and true and tall.  
None was as fair as their daughter, Jana. Even at ten, she was said to be fairer than either Daenerys or Cersei. She never once picked up a sword and her mother did not know what to do with her so as soon as she was five, she spent most of her time with her father in King’s Landing or at the Rock.

On Jana’s Eleventh name day, Tyrion received word that Brienne had died fighting pirates off the coast of Tarth. He hadn’t known she was going to lead the men, but it did not surprise him that she had. Tyrion had collected his children to come to their mother’s funeral. 

Aegon VI had a royal funeral for her in the new Sept of the Mother built for the dead Queen and to replace the Sept of Baelor. All the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms came to pay their respects to the Maid of Tarth, Brienne Tarth Lannister. However, later that night, when the children were in bed, friends from the War for the Dawn gathered to drink and celebrate a warrior of old, who had fallen. In his rooms, Jon, Davos, Pod, Arya, and Sansa told stories of people long dead, laughing and drinking Arbor Red, celebrating the lives of their fallen dead. 

 

As the night grew late, slowly they left until only Sansa was left. She had married some Northern lord, willing to change his name to Stark, and had a son and a daughter. Sansa had liked the safety and simplicity of the North. Two years ago, her husband had died from falling from a horse. 

Tyrion spoke, “I wonder what Jaime thought of the past years..”

“I am sure he would have approved. Look at your family. She was happy. Now, they are together, happy.”

“I don’t really know if she was ever really happy. I wasn’t him. I am a poor copy.” 

“I don’t think she was looking to fall in love, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t care for you. She was happy.”

Tyrion realized how close Sansa was when she put her hand over his. She smelled like spices and leather and lemons, which made him smile. Sansa kissed him softly. Tyrion felt a fire deep inside flare up; he has not felt this feeling in a long, long time.

“My Lady...” he whispered.

“Sansa... Tyrion, my name is Sansa.”


	3. The Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a very happy story but they cant all be happy.

In order for Lord Hightower to consent to marry his youngest, most beautiful daughter to a demon monkey, Lord Tywin had to make Tyrion, his heir to Casterly Rock. After all, Lynesse was as golden as any of the lions and as beautiful as any princess, and Lord Hightower wanted to be certain she would be Lady of Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin weighed his options and he resigned himself to formally making Tyrion his heir. After all, an alliance with House Hightower, though not what it once had been, was no small thing. 

At sixteen, Tyrion was painfully aware how little he offered to the young highborn ladies of Westeros. Even with all the gold underneath Casterly Rock and all the power his father wielded, he was a small and undesirable thing. He knew how many fathers of eligible ladies his father had propositioned to wed Tyrion and how many had refused. Each refusal reminded him of how small he was and perhaps made him smaller and more undesirable.

What few knew is that Tyrion had been married once before. Though his father had told him it was not a true marriage because Lord Tywin Lannister had not consented to it, Tyrion knew in his heart it was as real and true a marriage as any his father might agree to. His wife’s name had been Tysha and they had lived like small folk on the edge of the sea, poor and happy. For a whole fortnight, Tyrion and Tysha had spent in marital bliss, until his father had found out. 

When Tyrion married his second wife, Lynesse was seventeen and the prettiest girl he had ever seen, prettier than Cersei. She had been presented at the Sept at Casterly Rock in a lavender dress from Myr made by three seamstresses, working an entire year. At the wedding feast, the musicians continued to play the Bear and the Maiden Fair and he wondered if it was because he was saddled with him or because she was sleeping with Jorah Mormont. 

At least, that was the rumor. The rumor was that Lynesse had traded her maidenhead to recently widowed Jorah Mormont, after a tourney where he had named Lynesse the Queen of Love and Beauty. When Lord Hightower had heard, he had married her off to the Imp of Casterly Rock. After all, there would be no way Bear Island would be able to offer her the comfort she was used to or was even a match worthy of her name. 

Tyrion did not mind too much that his new wife was not a maiden or even loved another. After all, he had fallen in love impulsively once. He remembered his father’s anger and what he had done to Tysha. In fact, there was still a small piece of his heart that loved Tysha and he would not fault his wife for a crime he was guilty of.

The night they wed, she kissed him sweetly and made him feel whole and straight like other men. Tyrion hoped he would always be as happy as he was this night. 

In the first year, he tried to do small sweet things that would make her laugh or smile. He had fresh flowers put in her chambers and sent for fruit from the Reach, even in winter. He would sent for musicians and fire eaters for her amusement. He had thought they were happy, as happy as any high born couple was. 

Lynesse’s hair was golden and her hands like cream. Tyrion could spend hours in her bed, but the children did not come. She could dance, sing, read and speak in Valyrian, but children would not come. After the first year, Tyrion could sense everyone’s disappointment that there were no children and he tried more, but children did not come.

From the beginning, Tyrion had seen the way her eyes wandered at bigger men, stronger men, handsome men. He had not blamed her or gotten angry. After all, he was a small and stunted thing compared to the men she would look longingly at. However, as much as she looked, Lynesse never turned him away from her chambers. Dutiful like a wife and wanton like a whore, he would find her willing in bed.

When the children still did not come, things became more difficult. The truth of the matter was Lynesse was as barren as she was beautiful.

At first, his father pushed him to bed her more. Instead, Tyrion stopped sleeping with her all together. After a feast, he had her intoxicated, kissing a hedge knight in the yard. By then, he had heard the rumors that she was bedding other men. The hedge knight had fled with the threat Tyrion had given him. Lynesse had snarled at him, as he had the guards escort her to bed. “If you could have given me a child, I would not have to stray, but even your seed is twisted and won't take root.” 

Over the next year, the rumors were rampant of who his wife was taking to bed. One, even spoke of Lynesse bedding King Robert, when they visited King’s Landing. Sometimes, Tyrion wondered why his father allowed her such freedom. He knew it before he even heard the rumors. Lynesses was sleeping with his father, Tywin Lannister.

Of course, Tywin was not the kind of man that Lynesse truly found attractive. She liked big, burly men, tall men, strong men with swords, men who didn’t think and talk so much. Lynesse found one in the smith at Casterly Rock. Tyrion had found her with the smith first.

One night, exceedingly drunk, he had stumbled into the smith’s shop and found his wife and a young burly blonde smith in a heated embrace. The boy was terrified but Tyrion only laughed and departed quickly. There was a sweet satisfaction at knowing his wife was screwing a smith behind his father’s back. 

Tyrion had heard Tywin had caught them, as the smith fucked her like she was a dog bent over his anvil. Tyrion never asked but the smith’s head was on a pike at Casterly Rock and his wife was locked in her room with one of Tywin’s personal men to keep guard. As Tyrion looked at the smith’s rotting head, he found himself not laughing at all. Instead, all he could think of was Tysha’s terrified face.

It was the memory of Tysha’s face that made him visit with his wife. He had expected tears and apologies. Instead, there was only rancor and rage.

She raged at him. Her face was still beautiful and so cruel, “You are a monster. I never loved you. Every time you touched me, my flesh crawled and I would do anything to get you to finish. I would whisper sweet lies in your monster ears to get you to finish. Do you think I was speaking the truth? Stupid monster. I slept with your father the third night I was here. The Great Tywin Lannister and he could not make me pregnant. I even slept with your brother, Jaime. You, Lannisters are all rotten and foul. Nothing here will ever thrive.” 

Tyrion left as quickly as he came. As he walked through the halls of Casterly Rock, he thought on her words. He was almost certain Jaime was a lie but he promised himself he would not visit again with his wife.

A fortnight later, Lynesse Hightower Lannister threw herself from her window.

When they gathered her body off the rocks, the Maester asked if He would like to see his wife's body before they gave her to the Silent Sisters to prepare her bones. Tyrion had seen Tysha after his father's wrath at his disobedience. He had heard the tale of the wreck of Elias body and what happened to her Targaryen babies He did not need to see his wife’s body to confirm that his father and his father's will had killed her. She could not be just put aside, if Tywin had shared her with his son. She was a woman and might speak of it.

However, he did see her. Holding her lovely cold hand in his, he had said his goodbyes. The rocks had down quite a bit of damage, but Tyrion knew they had not left fingerprints on her throat. 

So, years later, when his father called him to King's Landing to be Hand in his place, he did his duty, like a good son. When his father told him he would marry his third wife, Lady Sansa Stark, all of fourteen, daughter of a traitor, sister to a traitor, he did his duty. After all, those who defied Tywin Lannister ended up dead. 

The night of their wedding, before he consumed too much wine, his father pulled him aside, “Do your duty, Tyrion. Casterly Rock needs an heir. If you get her with child, a boy, you get both the North and the West.”

As Tyrion drank during the feast, he wondered what a traitor's daughter body might look after his father's wrath. As he continued to drink, Tyrion looked at Sansa, his wife. She was a pretty girl and this was a good way to insult her, marry her to the Demon Monkey. She was smart and sad and sweet. King’s Landing would stomp out the sweetness for sure, if the Lannisters didn’t do it first. 

When he escorted her to their bedroom, he realizes that he is not just slightly drunk, he was very drunk. When they arrive in their room, Sansa gulps down wine, trying to calm her nerves and take the pain away of being married to him. 

When she started to undress, he thought to himself he should tell her to stop. He should be gallant and tell her that he would never sleep with her, until she wanted to sleep with him. She was beautiful and sweet and deserved so much more than him. 

Tyrion remembered his father words, “Bed the girl and get her with child.” 

Sansa’s hands were fumbling, shaking. He crossed the room and touched her wrist and felt her pulse beating furiously. He closed his eyes and imagined for a moment that it was beating so rapidly because of desire and not fear. He saw Tysha crying and clutching her ruined dress and remembered how he focused on the silver coins in her fingers. He remembered how broken Lynesse looked when they unwrapped her and the fingerprints she had on her throat.He thought of Lynesse and her ugly words “Your father came to me and said if you could not make me with child he would do it for you. What is one Lannister cock to another?”

He had heard the words all day in his head. Lynesse’s words were what had inspired him to drink so much. Sansa had such a long neck and a pretty head; he hoped she would keep it. 

“Let me help you,” he said and and he helped his new wife undress. 

He took off his coat and climbed into bed. He watched her and wished he was the kind of man who would tell her to stop. He thought of Tysha and the guards and of Lynesse her beautiful body broken on the rocks by the sea. He helped her untie her underdress and pushed it off her. He blew out the candles. In the darkness as he kissed her, he hoped he was not tasting her tears. 

“I must, Sansa. It will be better soon. I can be a good husband, but we must do this to keep you safe.” 

She did not answer him.

He hoped that she would get pregnant soon, perhaps this night. She was young. Her mother had five children all healthy. If she got pregnant quickly, she would not have tolerate his kisses for too many nights.


	4. The Stranger

Jaime brought his new wife to him at Casterly Rock. Tyrion did not know what to think of young Jeyne Westerling Stark. She was pretty, slender with a head of chestnut curls and brown eyes that sparkled when the light hit them. However, the fine blue dress she had was torn on the sleeves and skirts. Jaime had told Tyrion that she had torn it on the trip to display her grief at her husband’s murder. Her face was clean and her hair brushed and braided but her eyes were red from crying and she did not smile

She seemed like death itself, the girl with the ripped dress, the Stranger herself. ”Good luck,” his brother whispered to him. “Good luck with that one.” 

Tywin Lannister had been at Casterly Rock to appraise the girl and be a witness at the wedding and then he was returning to King’s Landing. After all, he was the Hand of the King. Tyrion wondered if he was a reward to the Westerlings for their part in the Red Wedding or if he was a further punishment to the girl who wished to be Queen in the North. Tywin had wanted Tyrion to wed Sansa Stark but she had slipped from his grasp, disappearing one night in King’s Landing. She had reappeared later in Highgarden and wedded Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden. 

 

The day Tywin had received the news of the Tyrell Stark wedding, Tyrion could tell from his father’s mood that he was furious. Immediately, he had sent Tyrion back to the Rock, as if it was his fault that the marriage had happened. Tyrion had been in Casterly Rock for several moons when his father had sent word that he had found him a wife and he would be returning to see them wed. Tyrion had wondered who his father had found to wed him to, but was certain, she would be unpleasant.

 

He did not find Jeyne unpleasant. He found her sad, tragic, and silently raging. She would not smile at him but he did not think she hated him because he was a dwarf. He didn’t even think she hated him for being his father’s son or a Lannister. She despised him because he was not Robb Stark. She despised everyone because she would never see him again, the man she loved. No one would ever bring back his arms to hold her, his smile, his kiss. Everyone and everything angered her because none of it was him and it never would be. He was dead and gone, even his bones were lost.

Tyrion thought she looked like sorrow and rage and that he liked Jeyne Westerling Stark a great deal.

 

He remembered being young once and storming for years around Casterly Rock, in a melancholy haze of anger and wine, after learning Tysha was a whore and had never loved him. He remembered how his world had darkened and felt empty and hollow as if all joy was gone. He remembered the anger that had simmered beneath his skin and the despair. Tyrion had wondered if Jeyne had tricked Robb, as his sister or her mother might, if she had manipulated the brave Young Wolf, but it appeared she had been manipulated. 

His father had called Tyrion into his solar. “I am marrying you to the girl, but do not bed her for at least a year. Control your lechery and your perverse nature. We do not need to have anyone believe she had Robb Stark’s child. Give it a year. Listen to me, Tyrion. Promise me, or I will give her to the Silent Sisters.” 

“So, I am to be her punishment for falling in love?”

“Be whatever you want, but do not bed her. Give me your word.”

“I promise, Father. I won’t bed her. I do not think she is interested in all that.”

The ceremony was a small affair, simple quick. They did not invite many guests. Lady Sybell and her brother, Rolph Spicer, the new Lord of Castamere, came but Jeyne seemed completely uninterested in her family or the dress of crimson that she wore. At the feast, she was polite and even tried to smile once at him, as he poured wine in her glass. There was no bedding and Jeyne had a retinue of guards so she would not escape. 

On the next day, Tywin Lannister left with Jaime. By afternoon, Jeyne Lannister bid her mother and uncle leave Casterly Rock. ”Do not overstay your welcome. Our hospitality is lean when it comes to Castamere. After all, we are Lannisters.”

Tyrion thought to intervene. After all, he did not think he cared if they stayed an entire month. Casterly Rock was big enough he would not have to see them often. However, he thought if Jeyne did not want her family’s company, he would be her ally in this and he said nothing. He was glad to see their horses and men leave the gate of Casterly Rock.

 

Jeyne seemed so much older than she was. Sixteen was an old age when you were already a widow. He would find her looking out windows. Tywin had ordered that all the windows she have access to be locked and she had two guards with her all the time. Tyrion would see her the first fortnight of their marriage, flitting about from window to window, sad and sullen.

However, she came to breakfast and dinner and ate with him at the table. She would curtsy and share his dinner, drinking too much wine and looking far away. Sometimes, she would comment on the weather or the gardens. It would always be a superficial comment, never about politics, never about war, never about the Seven Kingdoms. Sometimes, he thought she was mute, and then she would talk about tulips, or lace, or the color of his shirt, or the sun, or the fog rolling off the shore. 

One morning, he found her curled up in a window ledge, staring at the sea. He thought to himself that she looks like the first Jeyne Westerling who was married to a different sort of monster. Tyrion imagined her looking out over Blackwater Bay instead of the Sunset Sea, contemplating throwing herself from the window if she could break the lock. However, the first Jeyne was tasked with having an heir and this one was tasked with not having an heir.

Tyrion thought to himself that he could be an ally to her. He could help her and wondered if she would let him help her.

“My lady, there are many things we could do that might make you smile.”

She had been in Riverrun under siege and then under lock and key, constantly watched, in case she would run away. Jeyne spoke carefully, looking at him, “What would those things be, my lord?”

“We could ride. We could walk along the shore or in the gardens. We could read. The library is well stocked. We could sail. My father has a man who could take us out.” 

“I would like the locks taken off my windows…” 

Tyrion watched her and spoke carefully, “I think they are worried you will escape... Permanently.”

“I will not. I hold with the Faith of the Seven and that is a sin. I will not burn in the Seven Hells because of this. Robb is waiting for me and I will see him at the end of all of this. I would not jeopardize that... ” 

“Jeyne... We should be friends. After all, we are here together, each in our own prison. Of course, yours is worse. I have been in this cage my whole life. It is new to you.”

She stood up and took his hand, looking him directly in the eye, “May I have some wine, my Lord? Perhaps, we could eat and talk and see if we could be friends. After all, I am so sick of guards. They do not talk much and they are no company.”

Smiling, he took her arm and walked with her to his parlor. The windows were open and the sea breeze blew in warm with the heat of the day. There was a pitcher of Arbor Red and cheese and fruit as well. She sat in a chair at the table, smiling with the wind. Tyrion poured the rich red liquid into an empty glass beside her. Jeyne drank the entire glass and he poured her another. 

She spoke to him and he noticed the way she did not try to look away from him.“My lord, I am not new to this. I have spent my life trying to be free of my mother and her machinations. My cage was not as fine as yours, but it sat on the same Sunset Sea. “

 

They drank wine. Tyrion and his wife talked about the Sunset Sea and soon the conversation changed and he realized that Jeyne might be a good friend to him in time. 

The next day he had someone take the locks off the windows that Jeyne had access to. He did not think she would leave. After all, she had nowhere to go. 

They began to spend time together. He learned about her childhood at the Crag and how her brother Raynald was not found after the Red Wedding and was probably dead. Tyrion learned that her grandmother had come from Essos and had taught her to read tea leaves and palms. Tyrion showed her all the drains and cisterns of Casterly Rock, as well as a tour of the Hall of Heroes and all the history of the Lannisters. He showed her the shore and they collected shells like they were children. 

A week later, there was a raging storm off the coast, with crashing waves and the rumbling of thunder. Flashes of lightning kept illuminating the sky. Tyrion was in bed, smiling, knowing how much Jeyne loved storms, and wondering if she was enjoying herself. He heard the knock and she was in his room before he could answer. She was in her nightdress with her long hair loose around her shoulders and a candle. Tyrion heard his voice crack, as the lightning flashed, “Are you well?"

Jeyne smiled, the first time she smiled at him, “Tyrion, I thought we could enjoy the storm. May I climb in?”

He gestured for her to come in his bed. He thought to himself about his father’s words and the promise he made. For a moment, Tyrion thought to tell her that he would not touch her but thought that might make her think that that was exactly what he was planning. Instead, he said nothing 

Jeyne opened the windows and they watched the lightning shatter the sky. 

 

Tyrion woke to her on her side of the bed, sleeping soundly. The next night she came to his room to sleep. He did not touch her and she did not reach for him. For a fortnight, they slept like septas or sisters, peaceful and content on their own side.

Then, it had been her name day. She had not told him but she had gotten a wild look in her eyes. Tyrion and she had taken the small boat out in the bay with his father’s men. Even though it was growing cold, it had been the last good day of summer, as if to celebrate her birth. Tyrion and Jeyne had swum, and sat in the sun, and drank iced wine. When they had returned to Casterly Rock, Tyrion had collapsed on his side of the bed, exhausted, sun-soaked, and happy.

He had thought she was sleeping when he felt her hand under his nightshirt. In the growing purple of twilight, Tyrion thought he saw a smile in her eyes and on her lips. He heard her whisper as she leaned against his ear, “Tyrion.. please, I need you. Tyrion. Tyrion. My lion.” 

And he thought to himself that it would be one way he could hurt his father. Tyrion kissed her neck, hearing his father’s warning,” Do not bed her for at least a year.”

However, Jeyne called his name as he slipped his hands beneath her shift. He kisses her and it quiets his father’s voice and all his warnings. 

Jeyne woke in the morning embarrassed by her nakedness as if he was a stranger. Tyrion saw the regret in her eyes and a flash of sorrow. For the first time, Jeyne looked at him critically and he felt small and dwarfish and ugly in her gaze. 

“Perhaps, I should leave,” he had said his voice laden with emotion. 

Tyrion turned to leave his bed when he felt her hand on his arm, “Tyrion, you don’t have to leave. We are married and you are my only friend. I apologize for my behavior. I was startled... That is all, I want you to stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am very certain that I want you to stay.” 

Without her mother and her tea, she got pregnant from that night. When she came to him to tell him that she was late, Tyrion felt a smile break his face, even as he heard his father’s warning ringing in his ears. Jeyne had hugged him and he had thought that maybe everything would be fine. After all, they had each other and they had this child. 

When he had written to tell his father of the upcoming Lannister babe, his father had written back that Tyrion was a fool and a lecherous idiot. 

Almost immediately, rumors sprung up that the baby was Robb Stark’s, the heir to Winterfell. Her mother came to Casterly Rock but Jeyne would not open the gates for her. Instead, she had grabbed Tyrion’s hand and begged him to send her away before she hurt this baby. Tyrion sent Sybell Spicer away without opening the gates. 

The rumors grew as the child grew inside his wife. She would receive messages, snuck into the keep by loyal men to the Starks, written simply, The North Remembers or The King in the North. Tyrion would make jokes about the messages, laugh them off as crackpots. However, he could see the anxiety and the anguish in her eyes. Sometimes, he wondered if she had realized how painful this would be for all of them and if she had, would she have reached for him at all that night? There was an even darker thought that she had planned this and done it purposefully to keep Robb alive, even if it would hurt Tyrion, hurt her, and this child.

 

Months later, when she was heavy with child and close to delivery, Jeyne had taken his hand in hers “Promise me you will love the baby. You will take care of him I fear we may have been wrong to do this. I fear that we should have waited over a year as everyone had wanted.” 

“I am glad for the child. I am glad for you. I am glad we did not wait. Do not act like you will not be here to help raise him.” However, Tyrion noticed the cup of tea leaves on the table and wondered if she had been reading their futures. Maybe, she had seen something. He pushed it out of his head. 

 

On the night of autumn sea storm, Tyrion woke to Jeyne’s cries. By daylight, Tyrion held his son, Raynald Lannister as he watched Jeyne pass on to the place where a dark red-headed boy with blue eyes waited for her. As he rocked his son, he noticed how it seemed as if Jeyne was at rest, peaceful. 

 

His father did not live to see his grandson or hold him. Tyrion got a message that his father and uncle Kevan were murdered, as was Grand Maester Pycelle. Briefly, he wondered if his sister needed him but she did not ask for him. Tyrion was kept busy with his son and the Westerlands over the next years. There was so much war and death and a Targaryen crossed the ocean and an army of the dead broke through the Wall. Through all of it, Tyrion had a commitment to keep his small dark-haired son safe. 

After the wars and the new Targaryen sitting on the ruined Iron Throne, Lady Sansa Stark Tyrell sends word that she would like to visit. She uses the lie that she is looking for marriage alliances for her daughter, Alienor Tyrell. Tyrion knows that maybe some of the truth, but there is another reason Lady Sansa comes to Casterly Rock. She comes to lay eyes on see his son, Raynald, the first Lannister in generations to have brown hair, reddish in the light with streaks of blonde. Raynald’s eyes were hazel, though sometimes blue. More often, they were green.

She was lovely, the widow of Willas Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden. She was busy collecting her family from across Westeros, a crippled brother who had died in the War, a wounded sister, and a once-brother, now-cousin, recently crowned King. Tyrion had found enjoyed watching her eat her lamb for lunch. He had known she would come when he had heard how the Lady of Highgarden was invested in making sure House Stark thrived.

Tyrion spoke to her, “I am glad you have come. It has been some time since I saw you as a girl in King's Landing. It is good to see you doing so well. You are always welcome to Casterly Rock.”

“I have wanted to come for some time. My daughter Alienor is almost the same age as your son. It would be good to marry the two and heal the rift that your sister caused among our Houses.”

“I would need a great many more children to heal all the damage Cersei did with a marriage alliance. But, we are old friends, Lady Sansa. Tell me the truth, you have come to lay eyes on my son and see if he is your brother’s. He is playing in the gardens. Come.” 

Lightly she takes his hand. Tyrion led her to the gardens. He had not remarried after Jeyne and he had found he had missed the feel of a woman against his arm. When they see his boy, his hair is dark, streaked with reddish blonde streaks. Tyrion feels Sana’s breath rush out. Tyrion calls to his son and when Raynald turns, Sansa sees he has the look of a Lannister, not a Tully or a Stark. He is beautiful, his son, even at seven. He is cut of Lannister gold, beautiful and straight, almost as tall as his father.

Sansa smiled and any disappointment she may have had, vanished from her face, “How nice to meet you, Raynald?” 

 

That night after dinner, she accompanied him to his study to have conversations. He poured them some wine and spoke, “I have something for you.” 

Underneath his books, he pulled out a small slip of paper. It could fit in Sansa’s hand and Tyrion was certain that was how Jeyne had saved it from her mother. It was a pencil and paper portrait of Robb Stark, the King in the North, a bit of red, a bit of blue, but mostly black on parchment. Sansa looked at the picture and tears spilled over her cheeks. 

Tyrion spoke, handing her his handkerchief. “Jeyne had ridden north to beg Robb to take her. She had had a bad feeling and she wanted to be near him. Riding hard and alone, she had caught up with him, crying. The only way she left him was a man from Bear Island drew this for her. You should have heard her tell the story. It took him less than ten minutes. I think he did a great job. It is a fair likeness from what I remember.” 

Sansa smiled, “You kept this after Jeyne died.”

“It meant a great deal to my wife. I suppose if I loved someone as much as she loved Robb… I could not bear to throw it out. She was devoted to him.” 

“Yes, I guess they were lucky to have been in love, to have other than an arranged marriage. Tyrion, it must have been difficult for you to know that she still loved him as much.”

“Jeyne was a remarkable girl, who was smart, loyal, and wildly in love.“

He smiled, “One more thing before we dissolve into tears. This came to me in my father’s collection. Recently, I have been going through my father’s papers and I found it.” 

She opened the box. There was a simple burnished bronze crown, slightly tarnished with age.

“Robb's crown,” she said. 

Tyrion continued, “Yes, I am sure it is highly treasonous to have it, especially with Raynald already rumored to be a Stark. But I suppose our King is your cousin and he might make allowances for you to have such a sentimental thing.” 

Sansa smiled at him, speaking as she held the box in her lap, wiping her eyes. “We have lost so much since we met in Winterfell a decade ago.”

“Yes, we have..” he said, “Our families.”

Sansa spoke, “Our youth.”

Laughing, Tyrion took Sansa’s hand, “You more beautiful Lady Tyrell than when you were in King’s Landing all those years ago.”

“Perhaps, we have gained some things as well.”

“Well, we both have excellent children.”

“Yes, we do. Let us hope they never go to King’s Landing in all their days. May they live to a very old age and meet the Stranger in bed.”

Sansa took his hand and they laughed.


	5. The Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright- so this is dedicated to -Filia Romana-- who wanted to see Tyrion/ Shireen fic. Suprisingly, there was not this tag so I tagged it- I guess this is a rare pairing.
> 
> The Maiden chapter was going to be Daenerys and I went back and forth over a month deciding. In the end, Shireen won. So, I think there are lots of connections to the dance of the dragons and this chapter specifically. The more I read it the more I see it. It was not my intention but I must have been thinking of it in the background.
> 
> I have always written Shireen to be innocent, bookish, loyal and true and this story is not very different, however what if someone tapped into her wild Baratheon/Targaryen side and helped her brush off some of her childhood trauma and her sadness. Actually, as I wrote this I kept thinking of the line from the books where Maester Cressen thinks she was the saddest child he knew. Wouldn't it have been nice to see her survive and shake off some of the sadness?
> 
> This chapter is long- once I started writing I could not stop.
> 
> So, according to the show and books, Shireen is the same age as Arya. In the show, Arya is seventeen. So that is how I arrived at that age. Just so it is not too creepy.. 
> 
> Also, I really have no idea how long Jon was on Dragonstone from the time he arrived until they left for the Dragonpit. Time seemed really wonky in Season 7.. So for the sake of the story let's say it was a little bit less than 3 months. I totally could be wrong.

Tyrion Lannister is lying in Queen Rhaenys’ carved dragon bed with his new wife at Dragonstone. These were the second biggest rooms of Dragonstone, coming after Aegon's own, a fitting set of rooms for the Queen’s cousin and heir and her husband, Hand of the Queen. 

It is dawn but the fire is still burning in the large fireplace. There are candles on the table and they are sputtering to their end, drowning in an overflowing sea of wax. On the table are books and their clothes are tossed onto the floor. His wife is sleeping, her hand curled underneath her pillow. The ruined side of her face is hidden and he thinks she is beautiful. Of course, Tyrion thinks she is beautiful when he sees her scar, as well. 

Shireen is lucky. She is at least lovely when her scar is hidden. Tyrion cannot hide his deformity. Everyone sees it. Everyone knows. Of course, if his wife was awake, she would say that her ruined face makes her a pariah, whereas her husband is just a demon monkey. She would laugh lovingly, “You told me everyone loves a dwarf. People kill their children who have greyscale.”

They have already discussed each of their scars. Tyrion was a firm believer of talking openly about what everyone was whispering about, so he had brought up her ruined cheek early in their relationship. She had been ashamed, embarrassed, and looked away but he had reminded her to never be ashamed. If things went awry, she would sit on the Iron Throne. “Do not let them shame you or hurt you by what you are. Wear it like armor. It is what protects you.”

He is fascinated by the colors of her hair in the light. There are strands of brown, blonde, black and he thinks there is some silver. Her hair is straight and thick, but she wears it in braids and he does not get to look at it down, unless they are in bed. He likes her hair. He enjoys having the freedom to run his fingers through it. More than the freedom to do as he wants, he loves the fact she wants him to do it. Sometimes in bed, she will beg him to touch her or lick her or kiss her. "Please. Please... Please.." as she scratches at him, to hurry him. He loves that rushed, breathless, pleading his wife makes.

Perhaps he has been ruined by his sobriety, It has led to feelings, rushing to the surface of his skin, unclouded and free. It has led to vulnerability. After losing the Queen's fleet, he had slowed his drinking to sharpen his wits. It has increased his emotions and his desire to be loved. Last night, the urge to drink was great, but he did not. He needs his wits more now. Tomorrow, they sail for King’s Landing to face his sister and brother in the Dragonpit. To show Cersei the true enemy. Of course, she could just kill them before she even lets them speak.

He has been married for less than three moons. He had not intended to marry. His Queen had liked the idea. It had made sense to her. It was a way to bring her closer to Storm’s End, as well as Jon Snow. The King in the North seemed devoted to the Princess Shireen as if she was his sister. If Daenerys could keep Shireen Baratheon close, perhaps, Jon Snow might stay close as well.

 

Princess Shireen came to Dragonstone as an envoy with Jon Snow, King in the North and his Hand, The Onion Knight, Ser Davos Seaworth. She is the last living member of House Baratheon, direct line from King Robert, his only legitimate heir that still breathes. 

 

At first, he had thought she was Sansa. From the spyglass, they had seen a woman, young, slim, in a cloak. As they landed, Tyrion had seen her hair was too dark and the woman was too short, too slight to be Sansa Stark. 

When they had landed in the rowboat, Tyrion had wondered who the girl in blue was. Jon Snow had extended his hand to help her out of the boat. When she had turned her head, he had seen the grayscale and known immediately. After all, when Stannis had sent letters to all the Great Lords saying Cersei’s children were not Robert’s but bastards, he had been the one to start the rumor that she was not Stannis’ child but the unfortunate union of Selyse Florent and Patchface, a slow-witted fool. 

When Jon had introduced her, he called her Queen Shireen. Tyrion had looked at Jon as they took his weapons and wondered what they were playing at and half smiled. They had received word for Varys that the Knights of the Vale were at Winterfell, as were a small group of Stormlanders, known as the Queen’s Men. 

Tyrion knew that it was a small group of men Shireen Baratheon had at her disposal. Perhaps, Cersei had alienated most of the Stormlanders by now with her treatment of the Tyrells, the burning of the Sept of Baelor, and Tommen’s suicide. Tyrion knew there must have been several Houses who had talked about Cersei having no right to the throne but Stannis’ girl, Shireen. However, Shireen had been in the North for several years and had not come South to claim even Storm’s End. What is the blood right if you do not come and claim it? Perhaps, Princess Shireen was coming South to claim her right to the Iron Throne. 

Less than an hour later, Tyrion was shocked when Shireen knelt in the Great Hall, pledging her fealty to Daenerys, “My Queen, I am known as Princess Shireen of House Baratheon. My father was Stannis, who was your cousin as well as brother to King Robert, First of His Name. I am the only living Baratheon and heir to Storm’s End. I am your cousin by blood. House Baratheon has been loyal since the start of Aegon’s Conquest. I beg your mercy for what hurt my House has done, I pledge my loyalty to your House and your cause. After all, we are a family and women alone and I have sore missed family. We should have no dissent between us. I pledge what troops I can muster, through the Stormlands have borne the brunt of the many wars that have plagued these lands. The Stormlanders will fight for me when I call my banners. I pledge you my men, my swords, my lands, my honor, and my life.” 

Daenerys called for Jon Snow, the King in the North, to bend the knee, but he would not. Instead, he told a tale of White Walkers and his need to mine for dragonglass at Dragonstone. 

Later that night, Daenerys ate dinner with the Lady Shireen Baratheon, a princess no more, but Lady of Storm’s End. After dinner, she called Tyrion to her chambers.

He could tell Daenerys was irritated that Jon had not pledged his loyalty to her claim. Tyrion tried to soothe her. “You have the Reach, Dorne, and now the Stormlands. House Baratheon is no small victory. It will not be lost on the Lords and Houses. It strengthens your claim.” 

She sipped wine and looked at the Painted Table. “I have been thinking of what you have said about my legacy, about an heir.”

Tyrion sipped his lemon water and wondered what the Dragon Queen would say. 

“I have decided to make my heir, my cousin, Shireen Baratheon. She has Targaryen blood and is my closest relative. She has been raised in Westeros and knows its customs. She has been raised to rule. She is just turned seventeen, a maiden. She is delightful and told me so many tales about this place, Dragonstone. Did you know she was raised here? In some ways, I know she is a stranger and I should be wary but I feel like I have found a sister, family when I least expected to find it.” 

Tyrion drained his glass, wishing it was wine, “She will be a good heir, but it would be best if we married her to someone loyal to your cause. It’s too bad that Theon was misused. Maybe, the King in the North would marry her and we could use her loyalty to sway him.”

Daenerys looked at him, “I would not marry her to Jon Snow… There is a man of a Great House, who is loyal to me. You could marry her. You have told me that political marriages are of the utmost importance. You could marry Shireen Baratheon.” 

Tyrion looked at her “Have you seen her, one side of her face is a scar of stone or scales? I imagined I would marry someone but not someone so grotesque. Surely, I deserve better.”

As soon as he said it, he felt the weight of his words and shame from what it meant. He had been certain that he would marry for political reasons, an arrangement. He didn’t mind some silly girl or even a homely one but he hadn’t expected her to have such a deformity. After all, he was Lord of Casterly Rock and the Queen’s Hand. He deserved better.

Daenerys looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “I could command you to but I think you should do it willingly. You are right. You will have Casterly Rock, even though you are a known Kinslayer and your father’s men might kill you. My Lord Hand, you have your own faults. I have talked to my cousin and told her of my plan to make her my heir. I have told her that I speak to you of my idea of joining your two Great Houses. She says her lords might not be too pleased but that she will have you if it is my wish.” 

Didn't he deserve better? Didn't he deserve better than this ugly girl?

Instead of arguing, he looked at the Dragon Queen. “My Queen, I will meet with the girl and see if she means to see it through. If she consents, I do not see a problem with the matter.”

As he walked out of the room, Tyrion thought how the lords would call them Stone Face and Demon Monkey. What a pair they would make! Surely, he would be able to convince Shireen to not go along with this. 

 

The next day he found her in the gardens. She was reading a book. Shireen looked up and smiled at him, shutting the book. In the darkness of the pines, she was pretty. Her eyes were a deep dark blue that sparkled, even in the darkness of the overgrown garden. She was barely seventeen with a ruined face and a broken heart, orphaned and despised. So of course, his Queen thought it would be good to saddle this tragic figure to Tyrion. 

“What are you reading?” he asked as he sat on the bench beside her.

“The Dance of the Dragons. Do you know it, my lord? I used to read this often as a child here. It is full of treachery and excitement and war and sadness.”

“I have read it. Where did you find it?”

“In the library here. At Dragonstone, we have the best library. I will tell you a secret. We have an almost complete copy of Barth’s Unnatural History here. I found it today. I guess Baelor must have never come here to see it burned and Viserys did not listen to his nephew. I found it this morning. I would have brought it out but I thought something so dear should be left in the library. I could show you if you would like to see.” 

Tyrion spoke, “I would very much like to see it but I think we should speak first. My lady, do you know what they are asking of you?”

“I do, Lord Tyrion. I will marry you and be your lady wife. It is pleasing to my Queen and cousin and will show that I am loyal despite my family’s actions. If the Queen does not have children, our children will be the heirs to the Iron Throne. Our first son will be Lord of Casterly Rock. Our second child will be Lord of Storm's End. Of course, I explained to the Queen that we will have to foster our second son in the Stormlands. Perhaps, the Penroses or the Estermonts might take him.” 

“That is a great deal of children and planning. We haven't even agreed if we shall go forward with this endeavor.”

She looked at the book, rubbing her finger over the stitches on the binding. Her words were halting with emotion. “Do you find me unpleasing, my Lord?”

He heard the voice in his head saying didn’t he deserve better. Tyrion pushed it out of his thoughts, “How old are you, Shireen?”

“I just turned seventeen.”

He started, “Do you know how old I am? I have been twice married. I am almost twice your age. I am a notorious drunkard and lecherous lord..”

She spoke, interrupting him, “You will not be my first betrothed. I was to be married to Rickon Stark for the use of my men in the Battle of the Bastards, to regain Winterfell back for House Stark.”

“Rickon? He was just a little boy.”

“He was 11 when he died. Obviously, we would have waited a few years to.. To.. consummate the marriage.”

Tyrion looked at her but she kept looking at the book. Her face was flushed from the conversation. Tyrion touched her chin and lifted it to see her eyes. He found he liked the color and the way they sparkled. He spoke quietly, “How much do you know happens between a wife and her husband?”

 

“I have read things and I have been around my father’s army most of my life. I am not stupid. I have seen men naked.” 

Shireen spat the last sentence out, full of defiance and almost-pride of her worldliness.

Tyrion half smiling, found he liked this girl and her defiance. It was slightly beguiling the way she was sweet and innocent, yet also proud with an undercurrent of defiance. He asked, more curious, “Who have you seen naked?”

“Once, after my mother and father died, Jon Snow was ..was seriously injured at the Wall. By the time Ser Davos found him, all hope was lost. I saw him naked. I watched Lady Melisandre wash him.”

Tyrion looked at her and saw her look back down at the book, flushing furiously. He was very curious what had happened at the Wall. It seemed that Jon was keeping something a secret. One thing was certain was the girl was slightly in love with Jon Snow. He did not blame her. But it made him sad. He was sick of marrying girls who would never love him. Tyrion spoke, “I am sure I will look different from Jon when you see me naked.”

As if she sensed that she had somehow revealed her true feelings, Shireen spoke, “My lord, I am naive but I am not too young to be a wife. I know I am not beautiful. But I am clever and I am high-born and I am certain I can be a good wife and mother. There are many kinds of beauty and some are the kind we hold within. I am not a child and I understand that you may not be attracted to me. My mother told me it would be hard for a man to love me or bed me. I know who you are and I do not expect you to change or love me. You may keep a mistress as long as she is clean and you are discrete; as long as you give me children and respect.”

Now, Tyrion looked at his hands. He could feel her looking at him. Of course, she had heard his reputation. Sansa might have told him how he kept his mistress as her maid. Shireen’s words resonated, My mother told it would be hard for men to love me or bed me. What mother would say such a thing? 

Didn’t I deserve better? changed into a new question, repeating in the back of his mind Didn’t she deserve better? 

Tyrion met her eyes, smiling sadly, “If you are certain you will go along with this, we must seal it with a kiss.”

She looked surprised, “Kiss you? Here in the garden…”

Tyrion looked around, “Yes, on this bench, will do.”

Shireen looked like she was drowning a little and then she regained her composure. She looked into his eyes and spoke, “I have never kissed anyone, my lord.”

“Never…” Tyrion thought surely one of her father’s men, a young knight, a second son looking for a good marriage, a stable hand, a childhood friend. Perhaps, Jon on a cold night after too many ales on the Wall. 

“Who would kiss me?”

He looked at her and he knew the truth of it. The words repeated in his head. Didn't she deserve better? Shireen continued, “Even Mother stopped kissing me after the greyscale.”

Tyrion thought that she was more alike to him than he had thought. They were both unloved and despised, for different reasons but in the end, they were alone. His feelings softened and he spoke taking her hand in his own. How monstrous his fingers looked next to her long thin ones. “You must kiss me. My lady, I will not marry you unless you kiss me. You may find it unagreeable and wish to set me aside. I will not agree to this without your kiss.”

 

Shireen looked at the book in her lap, and smiled at the book because she would not look at him. For a moment, he saw the light of the sun break through the gloom and hit her face. On the side of her face that faced him, her skin was cream and without blemish. The Queen’s attendants had curled and braided her hair and dressed her in a silk dress from the Reach of the deepest blue, almost indigo. Her shawl had fallen on the grass and her shoulders were bare. Her skin was all the luminous colors of cream and pink and blue and he wondered if her skin was as luminous on the other parts of her body. Shireen's eyes were wide and blue like the sea, but in the center was a ring of almost violet. No one had probably ever looked to see the purple in them. It reminded him of Daenerys and her fine features, almost like a fragile bird but full of steel and fury. They were cousins and blood. Could she see the similarity? Tyrion was starting to see the similarity.

He spoke to her, “Who is your favorite character in the Dance?” 

“When I was a child it would have been Rhaenyra. After all, she had the true claim to the throne. If not for her sex, she would have been King and there would have been no war. I often used to think her plight was similar to my own. But as I have grown older, I feel more for Jaehaera, Maelor, Aegon, Viserys, children who were caught in the midst of war. All of them were either murdered or scarred by it for the rest of their days. It is why I knelt in the Great Hall. I am sick of all the death. My lord, I would like to begin living. We won’t until we settle the Northern threat and we can’t do that without kneeling.” 

Shireen looks at him and he feels exposed and wants to look away, but he doesn’t. Shireen smiles, “Who do you like in the Dance of the Dragons?”

“Why.. when I was a boy, I saw myself as a Daemon Targaryen, dashing rogue prince, scoundrel and adventurer, flying about on his red dragon, Caraxes, stealing maiden's hearts, stealing kingdoms. But now that I am older, I always cheer for Mushroom. After all, he died of old age in the Red Keep, well-loved and fat. Dwarves must stick together. ”

They laughed together amid the pines. Self-consciously, she covered her mouth while she laughed. Tyrion took her hand and kissed her palm. “Did young Rickon Stark ever kiss you?”

“I never met him. He was killed before even we met.”

 

She deserved a betrothed who would love her, who was a man who could teach her and help her. She deserved it.

He touched her face, the unblemished side. “You are beautiful when you smile. Do not hide it.”

He watched the skin on her shoulders and around her neck flush from the flirtations. He wondered how it might look after they kissed or in thier bed. He noticed her breasts beneath her dress were full and very womanly. The way her breathing changed had made them more noticeable or maybe he had never seen beyond the scar on her face. She was a woman under that dress, older than Tysha or Sansa had been when he had married either one. 

She spoke, her one hand in his, her other touching her braids, nervously. “You are good at this, my Lord. My father always said Tyrion Lannister was a natural at court, full of Lannister charm. I understand now what he saw.”

Tyrion spoke, “Shireen, my name is Tyrion. Please call me Tyrion. I am also certain your father did not say that. He probably said I was full of Lannister lies and had a forked tongue like an adder.”

She laughed, “Perhaps, my father has been dead for several years and it is not kind to speak ill of the dead.”

Tyrion smiled “I will go tell the Queen there will be no wedding. She will be sad to know but my Queen has had much disappointment.” 

He got up from the bench and wiped his hands.

Shireen touched his arm. “Wait... You will not have me!”

 

“I told you my demand. I need you to kiss me. I will not marry an unwilling bride again.”

She licked her lips, biting the lower while she worried. Shireen spoke, her voice cracking, “Could you come a bit closer?”

He stepped into her, her bent knees touching him. Tyrion could see her pulse on her neck beating beneath her skin. Shireen leaned over the distance and kissed him lightly. Her mouth slightly parted as he pressed his lips against her. When his tongue skated lightly over her lips, he felt the warm welcome heat from his stomach spread to his crotch in that painful twist of desire and ache.

Tyrion heard her gasp in a small sound, full of youthful desire and curiosity. Instinctively, he pulled her in his arms. Shireen tentatively opened her mouth and he felt a swell of want for her as she twisted against him on the stone bench. 

When he pulled from her, he smiled, “I will tell the Queen to prepare for our nuptials.”

Daenerys had been excited to have a wedding and though there were very few reasons to celebrate, Tyrion and Shireen were married in a simple ceremony at the Sept at Dragonstone two days later.

At breakfast, on their wedding day, Tyrion had taken her hands in his, "I apologize now, for I will not be able to dance with you at our wedding.” 

Shireen smiled, squeezing his hand. “Do not worry, Tyrion. I was never taught to dance. My mother was certain I would never be invited to and anyway, R’hllor frowns upon such wickedness.”

Ser Davos pulled him aside before he entered the Sept. He spoke like he was angry at Tyrion. “My Lord, I saved her from the fire. I saved her from death. I would not see her hurt.”

“Ser, I don’t understand.”

Ser Davos spoke, “You have heard of Melisandre and Lord Stannis’ belief in her magic and her god. Sometimes, they would burn people. We were outside of Winterfell, preparing for battle the next day. You can’t imagine how cold it was and the men had started starving and freezing. After we butchered the horses, Lord Stannis called me to his tent. That Red Witch had seen the Bolton’s banners fall in her fires and she was certain Stannis’ banners would be raised over Winterfell. Stannis seemed troubled and restless. He told me to go back to Castle Black for more supplies and men. It made no sense but he commanded me and I am a man to do as I was bid. I was about to leave in the cold night and Stannis stopped me. He had Shireen on her horse, barely bundled for the cold, but as if he had rushed to get her to leave. Her father, Stannis, came to me like a man haunted. He had told me that Red Witch planned to burn Shireen so that the battle might be won. Stannis was a complicated man, but I do not think I ever so him so troubled, so conflicted. He wanted to be King but he would not do it if it meant hurting his child. Keep her safe he told me. I have kept my word these past years. I will not see her hurt now.”

Tyrion spoke, “I do not intend to hurt her, Ser. I intend to be her husband.”

As the words came out, he thought to himself that might be its own kind of hurt.

Tyrion thought on the story that Ser Davos had told him that Stannis had planned on burning her to R'llhor and, at the last moment, changed his mind. He had died at Winterfell at the hands of Bolton's men.

Tyrion and Shireen were married in the bare Sept at Dragonstone. Lady Selyse had ordered the statutes of the Seven burned on the beaches of Dragonstone years ago when Shireen had been a girl. No one had ever replaced them. A Septon mumbled the words and Shireen knelt while her covered her with a cloak of a Lannister lion that had been hastily made. He hoped that was not an ill omen for their wedding but marriage in wartime seemed to be a hasty, simple thing.  
They had a small feast but there were no lords, no music, no festivities. As it grew dark outside, Jon pulled him aside as the Queen sat with Shireen, giggling as if they were girls. Jon had drunk a great deal of wine and he spoke deliberately with a great deal of concentration. “Sansa spoke kindly of you. You were kind to an orphaned girl with no family, just a name and land. You were kind when you had no reason to be. You were kind to me and told me the truth of the Wall. This is why I have allowed this because of your kindness. Be kind to her.”

Jon went to sit near Daenerys and look at her with all the longing of a man in the cold wanting a fire. 

 

Tyrion sat and drank his wine, thinking about how certain it seemed that everyone was that he would hurt her. Didn’t she deserve better? He watched the sad sweet girl who would brighten when he would speak with her. Shireen Baratheon Lannister was his wife. He was responsible for her. He did not want to ruin this marriage and he did not want to hurt her. He remembered them speaking of Rhaenyra and Daemon. Slowly, he thought of an idea and resolved to see it through.

There was no need for a bedding. There were no lords and this might be a celebration but the air was thick with anxiety and danger. As they walked to the rooms that Daenerys had prepared for the newlyweds, he could feel her arm tremble. 

When they arrived at the rooms and opened the door, the room was full of windows, overlooking the sea to the north and west, white marble and weirwood furniture. There were red carpets, with pictures of satyrs and maidens frolicking in debauchery with Children of the Forest. In an alcove, there were several soft chairs and bookcases. On the table was a carved harp. The bed was two dragons curled around the mattress with tails that ran around the white wood posts, losing itself in the canopy that was painted to look like the starry sky on a cloudy night. 

Shireen clapped her hands together, “This is Queen Rhaenys’ room! Look at the bed! Do you see the harp? Rhaegar played it for Elia. Father never let me come in this room. Mother thought it was wicked but I wanted this to be my room when I was grown. I would dream of it.” 

Tyrion saw a couch by the fire. “I will keep watch here,” he said from the couch. “I have done this before.” 

Shireen looked slightly shocked, “No, you must come to bed. It is our wedding night. This is where Daemon Targaryen would sleep before he was married to Rhaenyra. It is said Daemon Targaryen and Laena enjoyed these rooms the most. He would sleep in no others while he stayed here. It is rumored that Daemon, Laena, and Rhaenyra would all three sleep in this room and did more than sleep.” 

 

Tyrion looked at her, “How did you learn such things?”

She smiled, wickedly, “I read them. I was raised in Dragonstone and I had no friends, but Patchface. I know King Aegon's rooms are where Queen Daenerys sleeps. Your room as her Hand was always the castellan, though Orys slept there before the Conquest. These are the rooms of Queen Rhaenys. It is said Viserys the Second brought Larra here shortly before she left him. He gave her these rooms, hoping it would remind her of Lys. She said it was a gloomy and dark place and it did not remind her of Lys at all. And Daeron the Good’s sister, Daenerys, slept here. They say Daemon Blackfyre would sneak in here just to read her love poems.” 

Tyrion laughed, “I am sure if Daemon Blackfyre snuck in her rooms it was to do more than read her poetry.”

Shireen laughed nervously. “I got you a present for our wedding day. Well, I asked the Queen... Anyway, open it.”

She handed him a large object wrapped in velvet. Immediately, he knew it was a book. He untied it and in his hands, he held Barth’s An Unnatural History. He looked at it and smiled. Shireen smiled back, “Do you like it? I am sure it is very rare.“

As a man who had spent his life reading, he understood what he was holding, his face broke into a smile, “Thank you, Shireen. I do not think anyone has ever given me such a thoughtful and precious gift. Did I ever tell you as a child that I wanted a dragon? I would read anything I could about dragons.”

She smiled, “I used to have nightmares of dragons, nightmares of this place, where the stone dragons would come to life and eat me. But being here as a woman, I have missed it. It is the only home I have ever known.” 

As he set the book on the table, Tyrion turned to see her undressing in front of the firelight. Slightly spellbound and speechless, he watched his wife undress. As the dress fell from her frame, she stepped out of it. Shireen stood there in front of the fire with a sheer white underdress. He could see her body, the cream pink color of her skin outlined by the fire, her breasts and nipples hard from the cool air or his stare, the space between her legs which was covered by a small patch of dark hair. 

Tyrion wondered if she knew that he could see her body. She seemed too innocent but he felt his cock strained against his clothes, uncomfortably. He strengthened his resolve. He would not fuck her tonight. She was an innocent, a girl and he was certain to hurt her. He wasn’t even entirely aware if she understood what would happen. Wasn’t he taking advantage of the situation?

She went to her side of the bed and climbed in, “Come to bed, Tyrion.”

As Tyrion walked to his side of the bed, taking off his jacket, she pulls her underdress off in one fluid movement. With all the modesty of a maiden, she pulls the sheet and blanket up to cover herself. He wonders if Daenerys told her of what would happen tonight. He could see his Queen doing that, knowing what her first night of marriage was like. 

Climbing into the bed, he pulled his shirt loose from his pants. Tyrion was painfully aware he was not drunk and her hands shook as he took his shirt in her hands and helped him pull it off.  
Shireen whispered, “Tyrion, I am certain you will think me foolish. I have read what needs to be done and I will see it to the end, but I do not have the skill or any experience. You must help me. Show me." 

He looks at her wife. The side of her face untouched by the greyscale was creamy and clear with pink from the flush of her wedding night. The side that was touched was grey like the color of stone but it only traveled up her cheek like a scar or a shadow. Her neck was an invitation as were her shoulders, beckoning him to pull the sheet down and take his wife’s body for his own. 

Shireen had deep bright blue eyes, with the circle of violet. If her ears were big like her mother’s, her brown hair against her shoulders, thick and full, diminished the size of them. She would have been beautiful, if not for the greyscale. Renly had called her his brother’s ugly daughter, but she was not ugly. As a Lannister, Tyrion knew how ugly some of the most beautiful people could be. He remembered being much younger and certain he would never be loved, never have any value to anyone, because he was a dwarf. What would have happened if someone had cared to soften his care? She was his wife. He could show her love and perhaps regard could grow between them.

 

Shireen looked at him, lost in his thoughts and doubts. “Tyrion, what do we do now?”

“Kiss me,” he said.

She kissed him twice, a small dry kiss on his cheek and slightly longer one against his lips. He smiled, gently touching her shoulder. “First, you must know that you can tell me to stop and I will. The Queen, the King in the North, Ser Davos, even myself, all of us would prefer you to be ready. No one will care if we do not do this tonight.” 

Shireen spoke with great resolve, “We must.”

 

He speaks to her, “Did I ever tell you how much you remind me of Daenerys? You do.”

Tyrion lays down on the pillow next to her. He wants to reach beneath the sheets and touch her, feel her twist against her but he resists the urge. “Lie down next to me. Kisses should be soft and wet. Kisses are always better if both people want to be kissed. Come closer, Shireen. I will kiss you once. If you want more, you must kiss me.” 

Shireen speaks, her voice sounds small and scared, “A kiss... it is so close, so near.”

“Do not be afraid. Remember, no one wants you to do something that frightens you. I can always go sleep on that couch.”  
Tyrion kissed his wife softly. She parted her mouth and her tongue met him and he felt his plans drift away for a moment. Almost instantly, his body responded. He wanted to see her and he wanted to fuck her. And he really wanted to watch her face as she felt herself let go to the desire as he fucked her. Perhaps, he should have found a whore to not be so eager. How long had it been since he had been with a woman? He pulled away from her. 

Shireen’s breath was labored and her skin was flush with desire. 

“More please," she pleaded with him. Her pleading had almost done him in. He had images in his mind of her skin and the color of her skin after rubbing it red with his beard. He imagined the skin of her thighs red from his kissing them tomorrow morning. He thought of the small patch of dark hair and how she will taste the first time. His cock was so hard that it was painful."

He growled in her ear, “You must kiss me back.”

“Please ...Tyrion.”

“Shireen, I will not touch you unless you kiss me back.”

She leaned into him gently, pushing him into the mattress. The pressure of her slim waist against his cock took his breath away for a moment. She speaks almost as if reminding herself. “You are my husband and I am your wife.”

He spoke as he looked into her eyes, “Yes, I am yours and you are mine.”

Shireen licked her lips and touched his face tracing his scar, beneath his beard. It is gentle and careless and his cock jumped, but he will not touch her. When her lips touched his, they parted and her tongue darted into his mouth. She moaned, softly. She kissed him again and again and again. Each one was more passionate, more wanton. He found her arms around him and she is pulling on him, scratching against his arms and back, as if she is trying to spur him on to the next delicious activity. Her hips lift against his unbidden, natural. She does not know what the act holds but her body is acting on its own accord.

Tyrion pushed her down on the mattress, and she called his name, breathless and pleading still, “Please, Tyrion..”

With the all the skills and tricks he had learned over his life from his time with whores. Tyrion kissed his wife. He kissed her mouth and stroked her body. Taking his fingers, he traced her body, each curve and twist. Gently, he squeezed one pale nipple and she moaned, rising against him. He sucked her nipples and her legs parted. Carefully, he touched her sex and she was soaking wet. 

Instead of continuing at her cunt, he chose to learn his wife’s body. He rubbed her back and licked her legs from her ticklish feet to her sex. He sucked and twisted her nipples, kissing them, sucking them, biting them, twisting them. He whispered slightly naughty things and loving things in her ears and kissed and bit her neck. 

By the time, he is between her legs, in both of his hands he holds her backside and her legs are bent over his shoulders. She is almost crying with desire. When he licks her sex the first time, she calls out his name and Tyrion feels himself let go in his pants. It doesn’t stop him. He is enjoying himself too much, learning the newest Lady Lannister’s body. 

A few hours later, her legs are soft and shaking. His jaw hurts and he does not think he will be able to chew his food properly tomorrow. His fingers and face are covered with her pleasure, It does not bother him at all. She curls up next to him, kissing his neck, tired and sleepy. He felt her let go the first time against his mouth but she has come with him several times with his mouth and his fingers. He did not use his cock, not once. His pants have stayed on the whole time. This night has been about watching his wife come undone over and over. He is almost asleep, satisfied. Tyrion thinks he will wait a hundred days before he fucks her until she is wild for him, until she loves him. 

Shireen wakes him in the morning. Dawn is breaking over the sea. She smiles and is touching his chest, “Tyrion, you did not take my maidenhead.”

He smiles, as she presses against his chest, “Believe me, Shireen. We did more than most married couples do in years last night.”

She smiles, “I am a little sore but it felt so good. Will it always feel so good?”

“Always, for you. I will do my best.”

She gets up from the bed. In the morning light, he sees the red scratches of his beard on her thighs, her breasts, her stomach. There are small purple bruises from his mouth and fingers but she seems content and pleased. He thinks he must go easier tonight. Tyrion thinks when she comes back to bed he will kiss each bruise and mark softly and whisper that he is sorry. 

He is almost sleeping, his eyes closed, when she comes back to bed. He opens his eyes. She has a knife and her foot. “I need you to cut me.”

Tyrion tries to sit up and rubs his eyes, “I do not understand.”

“Well, if the Queen or someone checks the sheets, she will think I was not a maiden and my reputation will be ruined. Mother said things like that a lady will never live down.”

“The Queen will not send for our sheets. She doesn't care.” 

“She might. Or perhaps, others might.”

Tyrion pulls himself up and looks at her. She seemed worried and gave him both her foot and the knife, She speaks, “I read that if you cut my foot. No one will know. We will stain the sheets and my honor will be preserved.”

He takes her foot and kisses it. She is ticklish and he feels her entire body twist as she giggles. It makes him think of other things he could do to her to get a reaction similar. He smiles. “I will not cut you or hurt you, Shireen.” 

He lets her foot go gently. Instead, he takes his thumb and makes a small cut. A few drops of blood fall on the sheets.

"Are you happy now?" he says looking at her, underneath him naked.

She nods smiling, “Yes, Tyrion. I am happy.”

“Let’s see if I can make you happier,” he says as he opens her legs and parts her sex with his fingers. 

 

Tyrion had wanted to drag it out for months but his resolve doesn’t last that long. He lasts maybe a fortnight or a bit longer. Every night, he pleasures her with his mouth and his fingers on every part of her body he can think to. Tyrion wonders as he has wrung her last cry out as she fisted the sheets and face in the pillows if he isn’t every bit the lecher as Daemon Targaryen. Now, Shireen whispers all manner of dirty things in his ear, each thing more wicked than the last. He has begun to wonder what books the library might hold. She comes to bed, naked, in various positions, and pleads with him to take her maidenhead. Once he came to their room, she was on all fours, naked, with lion ears and a tail, purring and asking him to mount her. Once, she made him watch her bathe in a copper tub. He almost drowned and water was everywhere. She begs for all his fingers while he slips them inside her. She will lick them clean after they are finished. One time, he slipped his little finger in her ass as he licked her and now, she begs for it. Shireen has gotten wild with desire and knowledge. She begs him to make her a woman, a wife, a mother. He smiles and pleasures Shireen until the sheets are soaking wet, but he never takes his pants off. For the last week, Tyrion is certain he has had an erection every time he has looked at his wife. She exudes desire and he is unable to think of anything but their time in bed. 

Until one night, they are in bed reading she reads. Recently, she will read one book and when she is ready for bed, she will pick up The Tales of Mushroom. She will read aloud certain decadent and wicked parts. This particular copy has several pictures and sometimes she will ask her husband if they might do what is in the book, in their bed. "Perhaps, Missandei might be affable to such acts. Maybe I should invite her. What do you think, Ty?" It has come to the point when Tyrion sees her touch the red-bound book, he finds himself half hard. 

On this night, she reads a very descriptive and colorful or Rhaenyra practicing sinful delights on Mushrooms giant member.

She shuts the book. “Ty, Is that true?”

He looks up at her. “Is what true?”

Shireen has started calling him Ty and sometimes my love. When she looks at him, she glows. “I can do that to you. The thing you do with your mouth to me. The kisses. I could put your giant dwarf member in my mouth.”

Shireen has still not seen his cock. Tyrion is certain if he takes it out, she is certain to lose her maidenhead. She paws at it, begs for it, presses against it, but he has resisted so far. He looks at her “Yes, you could, but I wouldn't ask you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are a lady and my wife, I wouldn't ask.”  
“Rhaenyra was Queen and she liked it. Let me try.”

He does not know if he does it because of the way her eyes are burning with desire or if the flush of her skin. Maybe, he has been teasing himself for the past fortnight and he can take no more. She helps him pull his pants off. He shows her how to take her tongue and run along the bottom of his cock and over the top. He shows her how to move her hand against his length while using her mouth. Tyrion is surprised to finds she likes it. It is shocking to him and extremely provocative.

As she dips her head to try and take the length of him in her mouth, Tyrion realizes that she has managed to get his pants off and all is lost. By the morning, Shireen Lannister has lost her maidenhead several times in the night.

 

In the dawn, before they sail for King’s Landing, Tyrion wants to tell Shireen to stay here where she is safe away from Cersei’s anger and her vengeance. Queen Daenerys would have none of that. She will have Theon and Jon beside her. She will have the Lady of Storm’s End, as well. Of course, Shireen would not listen to him and his gentle prodding that she could go to Storm's End first and avoid the Dragonpit altogether.

 

Being at Dragonstone has reminded her of who she is. She is a Baratheon and from the same line as Daenerys. She is all steel and fury. Ours is the fury are the words of her House. He wonders if she hadn’t spent so much time in his bed, learning to demand pleasure, desire and joy, might she still be the sad girl that walked on the shore. When he asked her to go to Storm’s End directly and not go to the Dragonpit with them, she looked at him, “I cannot, sweet husband. I am finally in a position to protect my people, to protect the children. I will not leave now.” 

 

As he lays there, he feels a sense of anxiety and dread. Tyrion does not want to bring her in front of Cersei. It is like waving a wounded sheep in front of a hungry lion. She is his weakness. Stannis’ ugly daughter has become his weakness. He's a damned fool, a bigger fool than Mushroom ever was. Perhaps, he is doomed like Daemon Targaryen.

She has been ill the last few days, nauseous and weak. When she opens her eyes and pulls closer to him, he rubs her hair, speaking gently, "Perhaps, you are too unwell to come and see my sister and brother today.”

She laughs, “You make it sound like this will be a happy family gathering and you are introducing them to your new bride. You forget, Cersei is my Aunt and has been that since before my birth. Even before this greyscale, she was known to call me unfortunately for being so ugly. I know her.”

He was speechless because he could not think of a way to convince her not to come. He took her hands. “I would not see her hurt you. If she thinks I care for you, she might be unpredictable. I would not see you hurt.”

She looked into his eyes in the sunlight the violet was even more noticeable, “Ty, after we go to King's Landing, I will depart to Storm’s End with Gendry and we will muster who we can and do what we must. You will go to the North and Cersei will be what is between us. So, I struggled with telling you but I feel I must. It is early... Too early to tell you. Maybe too soon for a Maester to tell. I am late, at least a week, maybe a fortnight. I was sick yesterday morning and today as well. I think I am pregnant. I wanted you to know in case.”

 

Tyrion's stomach twisted and he thought he could not bring her to Cersei now. If she figured it out, Cersei would not rest until she killed Shireen. He smiled and he touched her stomach, still flat.

“My mother would say that I am foolish to tell you so soon. But we know what we are fighting against and what we are fighting for. You should know if we are separated or if one of us perishes.” 

He thought back to when he first was proposed to the idea of marrying Shireen. He had thought she was deformed, grotesque. Now the idea of her being in his bed made him excited. The idea that she was carrying his child made him elated. He thought about how happy he was and how Cersei would somehow know. She would sense it. Perhaps, this was a trap to hurt him. Perhaps, Tyrion would be doomed to hurt the women he loved; his mother, Tysha, Sansa and now, Shireen. He tried to push the voice out of his head but he kept hearing, Didn't she deserve better? 


End file.
